


Family Has Fallen

by lieforfun



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Winchester is Loved, Dean is an onion, Destiel - Freeform, Hunting, Hurt Dean Winchester, M/M, so many layers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-07 11:25:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18619684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lieforfun/pseuds/lieforfun
Summary: Sam died 2 years ago, and Dean has dealt with the death of his little brother by leaving his past behind him and starting over. But the demons who came for his brother have begun to hunt Dean himself. He refuses to let any bit of his old life seep into the new, but the angel with attachment issues has other plans.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So listen. I've been playing with some writing for the last couple years. I won't be finishing Love Is A Liars Game, as the idea that brought that fic on has been lost. I honestly can't tell you for sure if I will be finishing this one. But I hope you enjoy it anyway, and have a good day! 
> 
> This work is not Beta'd so I apologize for any mistakes.

_“If you would just pull your head out of your ass, Dean, we’d be a lot farther than we are now.”_   
_“Sammy, these burgers are amazing! Just take a break, okay? The demon will still be around after.”_   
_“I already had some. Not the best in Chicago, I must say.”_   
_“Who cares where they came from, eh’? They’re here and they. Are. Delicious.”_

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”  
Dean looked up sharply from his daydream and glanced at the red-headed woman who appeared seemingly out of thin air.  
“Nah,” he jeered, a smirk on his face. “Just heaven itself, sweetheart.”  
She flashed him a grin, baring her almost glistening white teeth before setting herself down on the barstool beside him. “Don’t be stingy darlin’. Tell me what it’s like.”  
Dean took a gulp of his whiskey before clashing it on the counter with a thud. “She wears a pretty green dress, hair like a burning light, and lips that could take an angel out with a whisper.”  
“Laying it on thick aren’t ya darlin’.” She smiled again and let her hand wander to his teasingly. “You had me before you even breathed a word.”  
This was easier than flipping a light switch for Dean. His whole life had been a shithole mess of mistakes, but this, this was easy. Finding the groove for each woman that came his way was like finding her itch, where she needed to be scratched. He could be anything she needed. A cop, a lawyer, a military blanch, a hand to hold and a dick to fuck. And who cared if he never called them back? That was their itch that needed to be scratched. But his itch was deeper than all the sex and booze could ever graze. His itch was his whole existence; who he was and who he will always be.  
So when she handed him her number and bent down to fix her shoe - showing off all she needed to show – he couldn’t feel it in him to call her that night, and the crumpled paper rested forgotten in his coat pocket as he paid the bartender and headed back to his car. His thoughts were berating him again. Like a baseball bat to the back of the head. Over, and over, and over again. He felt his chest weigh heavy when he drove home that night.

_“If she didn’t drown, how do you explain the water in her lungs?”_   
_“That’s a good question.”_   
_“Dean, I know you know something about this. Quit lying.”_

When Dean woke up in his apartment that morning, he hadn’t been expecting company. In fact, he hadn’t expected to wake up until after 3 that afternoon. The intrusion was less than welcoming, to say in the least.  
The banging on the door sounded like shotguns in his ears when he shot up out of his bed, half undressed. He’d finished his round of drinking in the safety of his kitchen that night to the sound of his neighbors going at it upstairs. Apparently, passing out trying to get ready for sleep since he hadn’t bothered to throw blankets on top of himself.  
The banging went through intervals. Five bangs, five seconds of silence, then five bangs again. One, two, three, four, five, he counted before he could throw on a shirt and make it to the front door. One, two, three, four, five.  
Dean threw open the door with growing rage. “What the hell do you wan- oh.”  
Castiel, in all his trench coat glory, stood at the doorframe completely calm. “Good. You are awake.”  
“It’s way too early to be throwing grenades at my door Cas.” Dean rubbed his face in exhaustion and annoyance. “What’s up? I thought you were with Bobby.”  
Castiel had already made his way passed Dean before he could finish the first sentence, taking in the state of the place. “I was. What happened? Was there a fight here?” He asked, worriedly scanning the mess of clothes Dean never got around to washing in the living room, the broken dishes on the counter, and the broken cabinet.  
Dean couldn’t help but snort. “No Cas. It’s just a shit apartment.”  
“I see.” Castiel frowned but continued. “Bobby was able to track the demon. He’s in Springfield, Chicago. I thought you would want to come.”  
It was Dean’s turn to frown as he shut the door behind the oblivious angel. “And why would you think that?”  
“Because that’s where Sam died.”  
And there it was, in all of Castiel’s point-blankness, the shock in Dean’s eyes blurred into that sinking feeling in his gut, and quickly turned to a slow-burning rage. Rage at Castiel coming here uninvited. Rage at the demon he was never able to catch. Rage at himself for not doing something about it.  
Dean sighed and turned to the fridge. The only sustenance he needed was in the shitty beer and package of hotdogs that made their place in his otherwise empty fridge. If Sam were here, he’d have the fridge stocked with fruits and energy drinks. Stuff for salads and pasta. He would’ve made a point to remind Dean not to eat out every night. Dean let the thought dissipate into the void of “things he didn’t think about ever” in his mind and he opted for the beer.  
“I told you I’m not hunting again.”  
“Yes, but Bobby and I think that you should be doing something other than ‘hiding in self-hatred and misery.’” Castiel quoted the line in perfect monotone, and Dean made a mental note to tell Bobby to stop letting the angel in on the old man’s opinions.  
“I’m not hunting. Period. Let me know if you catch the damn POS.” Dean washed down the guilt with a swig of his drink and let the bitterness sit on his tongue just a tad longer than he needed to.  
“Dean,” Castiel made a point to soften his tone, the way that Dean knew he could never ignore. “We are worried about you. It’s been 2 years, it’s time to get back to what you do.”  
“I don’t do anything, Cas. I sit here, and I watch tv, and I go to the bar. That’s what my life is. It’s a hell of a lot safer than anything I did before.” Dean said carefully but diligently. “Isn’t that what you wanted from me? To be more careful? To be safe?”  
Castiel held his gaze for a moment. “Yes, Dean. But this is not who you are. You are suffering in a way that I cannot fix.”  
“I’m not suffering. I’m not in pain. So just go back to Bobby’s and leave me so I can go back to sleep.”  
“Sam would not have wanted you to-“  
“You don’t know shit about Sam!” Dean cursed, getting in Castiel’s face. “Don’t act like you do! You don’t know what it was like, Cas. I couldn’t do anything…I was useless, worthless. I could’ve been a framed goddamn picture on the wall for all the use I was. And that’s what I am. I can’t do shit, so I’m going to sit my ass down on that couch, and go back to sleep and you are going to go back to Bobby’s and tell him and that if he ever tries this stunt on me again I’ll send the cops his address and an anonymous tip. Got it?”  
Castiel looked at Dean with a pitying smile. He raised his hand to glance on the other man’s cheek, a comforting gesture before he nodded. “Got it.” His words were small and scared, like he was a moth at the hands of an unwitting child, before he vanished in the blink of an eye and leaving the front door wide open.  
Dean found himself clenching his fists at the thin air, hunched over the angel’s spot on the floor by the sink. When he pulled himself back from the feeling of desperation and rage, he released his balled fists and instinctively scrubbed at the tears that had no business forming in his eyes. It was too damn early for this. Though he supposed that Castiel didn’t have to knock at the door and could have just materialized in front of his bed, and for that he was grateful. At least he had a chance to put a shirt.  
Dean let go of his frustration for the moment and sat down ungracefully at the kitchen table. Bobby was a son of a bitch for pulling this stunt, using Castiel to get to him. The angel was his only connection left with Sam’s soul. But after the first few months, he stopped allowing contact because ‘it wasn’t healthy.’ Though Dean could understand why Bobby did it, it was still out of line. Dean had made it clear that he wanted nothing to do with him, or Castiel, or anything pertaining to hunting again. It was too hard, looking over his shoulder at the passenger seat and not seeing his baby brother passed out by his side, or making some wise-ass remark, or laughing uncontrollably at Dean and his antics. He could still hear his voice, speaking intently about some lore he found. Sam and his innocent curiosity. Sam and his research. Sam and his stupid shaggy hair. Sam. Sam.  
Dean swallowed the lump in his throat and downed the rest of his beer.  
Maybe he could have called Bobby. Maybe he could get back into the swing of things. Maybe he could bring the Impala out of storage, just for something to do. See, the Impala was everything he owned. Everything that was left of the life he threw away in exchange for drunk nights and sex. He tried to overdose on it, the ecstasy, but his mind always came back to the feelings of uselessness and self-loathing. His world had always been a fire in a car crash. Always burning, always exciting, always took his breath away. But now it was over, and the smoke clouded his lungs, causing more damage than a pack of cigarettes could ever dream of. Bobby recognized the bout of depression from a mile away. He talked about therapy, about grief counseling and groups. Dean had laughed in his face. Dean Winchester? In therapy? He couldn’t even imagine himself sitting in that clean doctor’s office, talking about his damn feelings. Now, there wasn’t anything to talk about. Just emptiness.  
Dean figured he should do something that day. Something new, but normal in his view. Go to a park? Hell no, he wasn’t about to sit by himself on a bench without any beer. Go back to the bar and see if he could find someone outside of his…usual conquests? Nah, he was sick of the stumbling idiots always running into him and mumbling. See a movie? Sure, why not.


	2. I Am Not A Baby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Currently looking for a beta, hit me up if you wanna be friends and correct my grammar aha

Dean realized he didn’t generally do movies for a reason. Reason being, he is old. Sure, he sat down with a butt-load of popcorn and a Dr. Pepper slushy, planning to thoroughly enjoy the five-dollar showing of Ghost Busters the theater did on Tuesdays, but he soon realized his mistake when the scenes began to blur together. The light hurt his eyes, and the colors were wayyyy brighter than he remembered. The volume was so loud he felt the actor’s voices in his skull. And by the end of it, Dean was ready to puke.  
Tossing his trash in the bin by the exit, he managed to stumble his way back to the parking lot, but not without frightening a few children and their parents on his way out. He made a mental note not to come back to this theater like, ever.  
Dean took a second to lean against his 99’ pickup and breathed himself back to normal vision before snatching the keys out of his pocket. He had managed to stick the right key into the door lock before he was suddenly grabbed his collar and tossed to the concrete.  
Dean groaned and leaned onto his side, sucking the air back into lungs with labored breaths.  
“It’s been a while, Dean-o!” An older man’s voice whistled above him. “Thought you were coming to see me!”  
“Sorry dude, had bigger things on my plate.” Dean choked out and quickly jumped to his feet. “Who the hell are you?”  
The man flashed a cocky smile nodded, almost like he understood. His eyes glinted black, only for a second. “Oh yes. Was it Ghost Buster’s they were showing this afternoon? Quite ironic if you asked me. It’s kind of early for a spontaneous movie trip, don’t ya think?”  
“Aw, come on!” Dean yelled. One of these cockroaches? Now?! “Go to hell, dickbag. I’m not playing your friggin’ games anymore.”  
“Well that’s just unfortunate.” The demon tusked, walking slowly towards Dean. “’Cause you see, I heard you threw quite a fit after…ya know. Sammy.” The smirk on the demon’s face grew to a grin, so big it seemed to stretch inhumanly across his face. “Killed a few friends of mine. So I’m ready to take my turn.”  
Dean backed away unconsciously, bumping into the car in the next spot over. “That was well over 2 years ago. Why come after me now?”  
“Biding my time.” The demon said softly. The demon took advantage of Dean seemingly cornering himself and took the last few steps until he was almost a foot from his face. “We knew you would let your guard down at some point. See, you have to have patience in my business, son. I’ve got nothin’ but time.”  
Dean swallowed. He hadn’t expected them to come here, all the way to Georgia. But he guessed it made sense. When he stopped hunting, the demons stopped hunting him. He thought they just went after the other hunters who were making themselves a target. Didn’t mean he didn’t take precautions though, he thought, letting the image of the devils trap underneath the welcome mat at his front door cross his mind.  
“Look man, uh, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Dean let a nervous smile line his face. “I’m not a threat anymore, and uh, I’m not gonna come after you again. Promise.”  
“Oh, I know you’re not. But unfortunately for you, killing you would bring your little hunter friends right to me.” The demon shrugged. “Sorry, Dean.”  
Dean faltered.

_“Sorry Dean. I’m so sorry.”_   
_“Oh you shut up Sam. You didn’t do this.”_   
_“But I did, Dean. I brought them here; I told them where we are.”_

Dean flew back like a ragdoll, cracking his head against the pavement. His head spun, little red splotches began to form behind his eyes. He was too fucking old for this shit. He willed the thought away as the demon raised his hand again, flinging him into the wall of the theater and holding him in place in the air.  
“You’re making this too easy!” The demon whined before allowed the pressure against Dean’s body to go slack…only letting the pressure remain on his throat. And suddenly Dean couldn’t breathe. He flailed, clawing at his throat but there was nothing there to grab.  
“How about some push back hmm? A struggle?”  
Dean gasped desperately. The red behind his eyes was quickly turning black- his chest burned for oxygen as he stared wildly down at the demon.  
“Oh come on Dean! I know you can do better than tha-“ The demon snapped his head towards the parking lot and sniffed. “What the hell is that.” He turned to glare up at Dean hanging desperately at the wall. “Who is here with you?!”  
“No one! I swear.” Dean managed to choke out when he felt one of his ribs crack.  
“Liar!”  
Dean was thrown to the ground with a sickening thud against the curb. Dean took in some much-needed air but it was too late; his vision continued to darken significantly. All he managed to see was a bright light before he fell into state of silence.

Someone was touching him.  
That’s all he could register before his fist balled and flew up at the intruder, clashing with a crunch.  
“Dean, stop! It’s me! Calm down.”  
Dean curled around his hand with a sharp groan. He checked- definitely broken. Dean peered up at the angel with frustration…and a tiny hint of fear, but he would never admit it. Castiel looked down at him totally unbothered by the sucker punch Dean landed on his jaw. Fucking angels, Dean groaned internally as he instinctively held his injured hand to the aching spot in his ribcage.  
“Let me see that.” Castiel took Dean’s hand into his own and closed his eyes. Dean breathed clearer as the bones in his hand shifted back into place. He would never get used to the feeling, cold and then very, very warm, and then he could move his fingers once again.  
“Sorry about that,” Dean muttered.  
“Where did the demon come from?”  
Dean widened his eyes, remembrance washed over him with a panic. He looked around. He was in his apartment once again. He was never so happy to see the tiny beige walls surround him again.  
“I don’t know Cas,” He answered honestly. “He just appeared.”  
“Why didn’t you have a weapon?” Castiel’s firm voice was filled to the brim with worry. “You always have a weapon.”  
“Can’t feel normal if you’re constantly worried about demons.” Dean sighed and sat up, rubbing his eyes. “I stopped carrying weapons around. All my shit’s in the Impala.”  
“That is very stupid.”  
“How’d you find me anyway?”  
It was Castiel’s turn to sigh. He looked away from Dean, at the nightstand and the garbage laying on top of it, suddenly very interested at the half-eaten Twix bar on top of it. “Your heart skipped a beat.” He replied, pretending to ignore the squint in Dean’s eyes. “I thought at first you were... _canoodling,_ but when it slowed, I knew there was something wrong.”  
Dean didn’t pause. “You were listening to my damn heartbeat, Cas?!”  
“I had to make sure you were still alive.”  
“That’s a whole new level of creepy, you know that right?”  
Castiel looked up to stare into his eyes. “I had to make sure you were still alive.” He pressed.  
Dean threw his legs off the couch and stood. “So what if I’m alive? It doesn’t matter, Bobby needs backup and your dumbass is here playing doctor!”  
“You are needed, Dean. You just don’t know it.”  
“How am I needed? I’m not a hunter anymore Cas, I’ve told you this a million times over. My job is done. I’m not going back.”  
“Dean, you don’t understand.”  
“Don’t understand what? I don’t think you understand what I’m saying-“  
“I need you, Dean.” Castiel’s voice was sharp, ringing in the Dean’s ear as he stared in disbelief. Castiel seemed to draw back at his own aggression, shame drawing pictures in the corners of his eyes when he spoke again. “I…I am not myself, anymore. Sam’s death took a toll on all of us. His spirit is not here, I know this, but I see him at every corner. He is hiding behind the eyes of every demon we come across, and I hesitate. I am not the hammer and sword that I used to be.”  
Dean stood stunned. Castiel’s obsession had always ended with Dean; he had been downright cold to Sam when he was alive. “But I thought-“  
“I never hated him.” Castiel interrupted. “Quite the contrary. Sam had potential that could not be squandered. The only way to reach it was to stop treating him like he was incapable. He was stronger than you, smarter than Bobby, quicker than Ellen, he was the one holding us together.” Castiel paused to rub his face. “Now that he is gone, our team has fallen apart. Not just as a family, but internally as well.”  
Dean stood silently to take in the information. He couldn’t imagine what Bobby was going through- he hadn’t spoken to the man since Sam’s death. But he knows if ever went back to that life he would break down. If he was confronted again the way he was at the theater, but this time had to fight back, he would break. He would rather die than let these feelings consume him.  
“I’m sorry Cas,” Dean whispered. “But I can’t do it.”  
Castiel stared at him so hard it was almost like he was looking through him. The silence draped over them, covering them in a safety blanket. Dean refused to look at the angel in turn, the pain of seeing the sadness in the other man’s eyes too harsh to bare since his soul was ripped out and naked for him to see.  
“Fine.” Castiel finally interrupted the quiet after a few moments. “Then allow me to stay with you.”  
Dean’s mind blanked out. “Huh?”  
“Allow me to stay by your side. If you insist on going outside without weapons, let me be your guardian.” Cas’ smile was slight. “And, maybe someone familiar can help you find better things to do than see a movie.”  
“You want to live…here?!” He gestured wildly at the dingy apartment. “Where would you even sleep?”  
“I do not mind your couch, it is actually very comfortable. And if you do not enjoy living here, I can arrange to find somewhere cleaner.”  
“This is crazy, Cas! What about Bobby?”  
Cas stood slowly and gazed at Dean with that stupid ‘I’m too worried about you to care’ look on his face. “All he has to do is pray to me, and I will come.”  
Dean considered. Sam would have hated the notion; being guarded by angels was the last thing he would have wanted for Dean. But, having someone around for more than a sloppy night was tempting. Too tempting.  
“So what’s the catch?”  
Cas tilted his head in confusion. “What do you mean?”  
“I mean, what’s in it for you? Besides, you know. Your obsession with me.”  
Cas looked away for a moment before returning Dean’s inquiry. “Do not play loud music when I am in the car with you. I cannot think in those conditions.”  
Dean scoffed, pretending to be hurt to hide the rising laughter. “Well if you’re gonna live with me then that’s what you get, baby. When I’m driving that’s my zone!”  
“I am not a baby.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr: portionsoflilo


	3. Nightmares, Sam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stiiiill looking for a beta. But hey! I figured out how to use this godforsaken website and now everything looks normal! I fixed all the other chapters as well, so I hope it's easier to read. Enjoy!

_“I’m not a baby, Dean!” Sam shouted. “How long were you going to keep me in the damn dark?”_

_Dean swallowed the lump his throat. “I’m sorry, Sammy. I wish I had told you the truth.”_

_“Yeah well it’s too damn late for that, pal.” Sam sneered. “I wouldn’t be dead if you just told me it was fucking reaper!”_

_“I thought I was protecting you…”_

_“Protecting me? All you had to do was tell me the truth! It’s so easy, Dean. And now you won’t ever get the chance to tell me, being dead and all. Because of you.”_

_Dean fell to his knees, the weigh on his body so heavy he could hardly breathe. “I’m so sorry.”_

_Sam scowled, looking down at Dean’s frame with a huff. “It’s too late for sorry. 2 years too late.” He kicked Dean square in the ribs. Dean groaned and pulled his arms around his stomach tightly.  
“I did my best Sam, but it wasn’t… good enough. I’m paying for it every day.” _

_“Not enough. The least you could do was kill off that demon who murdered me.”_

_“I can’t Sam.”_

_“And why not?”_

_“I’m weak.”_

Dean awoke with a jump, crying into the air around him. The feelings welled up inside him like a creature desperately trying to claw it’s way out of his lungs when he cried out into the darkness. The nightmares had started a year after Sam’s death, just when he thought he had the grief under control. Sam berated him, attacked him, beat him, and gutted him over and over. Slowly breaking Dean under the crushing weight of his mistake and the devastation that came of it. The tears came steadily now and he made no move to stop it. His heart raced and he choked, not even trying to keep the sounds from slipping past his chapped lips.

“Dean!” Castiel’s voice called from behind his door. “Are you okay?”

Dean froze but couldn’t make the words come out of his mouth. He had forgotten the angel was still in his home.

“Get away from the door.” His low, gravelly voice was barely audible before his bedroom door was knocked off its hinges with a blast.

Cas stood in the doorway looking like a wet dream; a fire in his eyes and balled fists, his white shirt crinkled and tie loosened from sleep, hair tousled in every which way. The fury slowly melded away once he realized there was no danger, and took a step inside.

“What the hell Cas?” Dean choked out, suddenly very aware of the fact that he was incredibly vulnerable in his sheets half-naked.

“I heard you crying. I thought they had found you.” Castiel walked towards Dean in a hurry, Dean automatically covered himself with the blankets. “What happened?”

“It’s jus’ a bad dream,” Dean muttered, shifting uncomfortably under the blankets when Castiel sat down on the bed.

Castiel’s next action almost set Dean’s heart at a pace so fast it could have burst. He lifted his hand to wipe the tears off the tip of his nose, a touch so gentle it so obviously inhuman. Castiel looked at him with the same worried look he shot at him the night before. “How long have you been having nightmares?” He said slowly, that low scratchy tone told Dean not to blow off his question.

“About a year.” He replied, his face red as he quickly swiped away the tear streaks that made wet craters on his freckled face.

Castiel hummed, too focused on the slight indents on Dean’s cheeks to bother replying.

“Cas.” Dean pushed.

“I’m thinking.” No, Castiel was certainly not thinking, too enraged at the brokenness of the man in front of him. All he ever wanted was to protect him from this, but in the end, after everything he sacrificed, he still couldn’t stop the pain from clouding Dean’s eyes and painting his soul.

Dean closed his eyes and let himself be comforted. When the nightmares arose, he would wake up and drink himself into a coma and let his day start over. His coping mechanisms were bad, he admitted, but they worked. He had a feeling he would have to stop in order to make the angel happy.

Castiel moved his hand so he could swipe his thumb over Dean’s forehead. The action seemed to surprise both of them; Dean’s breath hitched in his throat and Castiel jerked himself off of him, leaving a foot of space between them.  
“Cas…”

“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-“

Dean leaned himself up and let the blankets fall from his shoulders. “Castiel, it’s okay. I promise.”

Castiel stared at him with a mortified look on his face, scared to move again, scared to make another mistake. Scared to ruin what was happening as the sun shone through the window and glanced off of Dean’s smooth, wide shoulders, rippling and stretching and casting shadows against the white sheets. Dean’s soulful eyes seemed to cower when he captured Castiel’s gaze and leaned forward and rested his hand on the back of his neck. He pressed his lips to the angel’s forehead, closing his eyes and letting the comfort of the action wash over him. The scent of ginger flooded his senses and felt calmness settle over his mind for the first time in ages.

Dean pulled away after a few moments and met Castiel’s wide eyes with a small smile. “How about breakfast? I don’t have anything in the fridge, but there’s a place nearby we could walk to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr: portionsoflilo

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: portionsoflilo  
> You'll find fanart I've done myself along with other fandom things.


End file.
